


Unexpected deductions

by apolesen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolesen/pseuds/apolesen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boredom has set in at 221B Baker Street, and Sherlock is desperate for a case, or at least something to deduce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected deductions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Infiniteth of LJ ages ago, just after the first series, so it's set somewhere within that timeframe, and doesn't really take the second series into account.

Boredom had set in several days ago. It was the kind which made the sunlight sting and the milk curdle and all the books seem completely devoid of interest. Sherlock had resorted to lying slumped on the sofa, still half in his pyjamas. His mind was going stale - it was not a tool which was made to be left idle for too long, but he had reached the point where there it had started to paralyse him. It kept him from getting up and looking over old case-notes or talking a walk. He did not even feel like doing any of those normal things John had started making him do to pass the time, like solving sudoku or playing solitaire or watching bad telly. _Corrie_ was probably on about now, but he could not be bothered to get up.

‘John?’ he shouted, wondering where the man was. Then he remembered that he had said something about meeting a friend for coffee and was probably not back yet. The thought of coffee made his stomach give a hungry jolt; perhaps he should eat something. Considering he did not really eat during cases, these periods of boredom were prime eating time, and hunger was catching up with him. Then again, getting out of the sofa felt like a huge effort, and he did not feel very interested in making an effort, if it was not the kind which would activate him properly. With nothing better to do, he picked up his phone from the floor and, in quick succession, sent two texts: one to John, saying “I’m bored”, and one to Lestrade, saying, “any murders?” The phone stayed disappointingly silent.

There were steps in the stair; judging from the weight of them, it was a woman, and instinctively, Sherlock identified them as Mrs Hudson’s. He hesitated, however, as the person walking upstairs was wearing heels, which Mrs Hudson usually did not. Still, it was her voice which said:

‘Hello, Sherlock, dear.’

‘Put the kettle on, would you?’ he said, not raising his head.

‘I’m not making tea for you,’ she said in her usual airy way, but still crossed to the kitchen.

‘Why are you wearing heels?’ Sherlock asked and sat up. It was not much, but at least it was _something_ to deduce. He would say date, but surely Mrs Hudson did not date...

 _‘Oh, Greg is taking me out to dinner.’ _Date it is, then.__ He had had no idea that Mrs Hudson was involved with anyone. When she came out of the kitchen, he saw that she had attempted to dress for the occasion - it was much like what she usually wore, but a little more sparkly. ‘I’ve put the kettle on now, but you’ll have to make the tea yourself. Now, if Greg turns up while I fix my hair, make sure he doesn’t run off.’ She gave him an encouraging smile, but he just waved her away. He did not find the idea of conversing Mrs Hudson’s dinner date very interesting. When she had left the room, he took up his phone and texted John. “Are you coming home soon? If so, bring food.”

He was playing with his phone when the door opened and he heard footsteps in the stairs. _Male, good shoes, probably expensive. Familiar..._ Then the wheels of his mind clicked into place and he bolted from the sofa just when Lestrade entered the flat.

‘Oh, hello, Sherlock,’ he said at the sight of him.

‘What’s happened?’ Sherlock exclaimed with such ferocity that Lestrade almost jumped. ‘Where? Is there a body? How long since you started investigating? Any leads?’ Lestrade opened his mouth and closed it again, and Sherlock realised suddenly that that facial expression meant he was not following. ‘The _case_ , goddammit!’ he exclaimed.

‘What case?’ Lestrade asked.

‘The one you’re here about, of course!’ Sherlock shouted, jumping up and down with frustration.

‘Well, actually...’ The inspector scratched his neck awkwardly, as if trying to find a way to say something very difficult. He seemed just about to speak up when they were interrupted by Mrs Hudson’s delighted cooing:

‘Oh, Greg!’

‘Hello, Martha,’ Lestrade said, his posture suddenly bearing witness of embarrassed glee. Sherlock watched, as perplexed as the inspector had been a moment ago, as Mrs Hudson crossed to Lestrade and, going up on tiptoes, brought their faces close to let him kiss her cheek, which he gladly did. ‘You’re looking lovely,’ he said, still conscious of Sherlock’s presence but a little more relaxed now.

‘You charmer,’ she said, glowing at the compliment. Then she put her arm through Lestrade’s and gave Sherlock a little wave. ‘Have a nice evening, Sherlock, dear.’

‘I’ll, eum, get in touch as soon as something comes up,’ Lestrade said over his shoulder as he escorted the landlady down the stairs. Sherlock was frozen in the doorway, staring after them. He was still standing there when John came home a minute or so later.

‘I saw Lestrade leaving,’ he said, hovering in front of Sherlock. ‘Did he have any news?’ Sherlock realised he had not moved or said anything and snapped back into life - John was getting a look in his eye, which might mean he was considering poking him to see if he had been suddenly paralysed.

‘None,’ he said and stalked back into the living-room to slump down onto the sofa again. ‘No murders, no cases. Just picking up his date.’

‘Date?’ John repeated, frowning.

'Nevermind,’ Sherlock sighed. ‘Can you make some tea?’


End file.
